The Flight 93 Presidency (by Dextrous Mouse)

I wouldn't promote it as a persistent fantasy--yet--but as more of a recreational one, that the Flight 93 experience of rational Americans opposed to the horror of Trump isn't actually happening, that we aren't on a plane piloted by lunatics as an implement of the apocalypse, but that everything is fine and the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming and Bambi is browsing in the underbrush.

What do you do with the foreknowledge of certain doom? A reasonable course would be to immerse yourself in the most pleasant fantasies available. But, wait, isn't that what the Trumpists are doing--the economic and religious puritans--embracing the certainty of destruction and welcoming it and encouraging it along, with the reassurance of rebirth, salvation and their fantasies of superiority? 

OH...MY...GOD. I see it now. They have forced us into their world, restricted to a choice of faith or despair--no hope--with a big sign on the cabin door barring reason, cooperation, decency and freedom, the existence of which in creation is an affront to their deterministic gods. I pause here to attune myself to the great, inchoate, aboriginal sigh of sadness for the lost and unrealized potential of humanity.